Tales of the Bhaalspawn
by Cannibalistic Skittles
Summary: Living your whole life in Candlekeep really doesn't grant you with the skills needed to stop a plot against the entirety of Faerun, but are they going to let that stop them? ...well, maybe.
1. Chapter One: A Fortunate Beginning

Chapter One

"C'mon, Kher, can't you hurry up?" The plea is punctuated by a tapping foot, impatience written into the stance of broad-shouldered girl.  
A person sways into view, hidden from the chest up by books of various styles. She stumbles to the nearest table and drop the stack there, then, wheezing slightly and pushing now-messy hair from her face, steps away.  
Only once this is finished and she has straightened does she acknowledge the other.

"You realize," she says, "that _you_ volunteered me for this. Every day. I didn't complain because it got you sword-fighting lessons. And now, I'm going to do what was asked of me. It will cost you only five minutes, and I'll could be finished faster if you help."  
The first fidgets in her armor, looking away. Finally, she speaks up. "I don't... want... to organize books…"  
The other nods. "Fair enough. You'll have to wait."  
This answer appears to displease the first. She strides to the table and begins to pluck away tomes and jam them into whatever space she can find until a pull at her arms stops her.  
"Taev, no," scolds the second, and she gingerly removes each of the misplaced books. "_The Order of the Radiant Heart: Volume Two_," she says, holding it up, "does _not_ go between _A Compendium of Fantastic Beasts _and_ The Adventurer's Guide_. It fits between Volume One and Volume Three."  
She slides it into place, then looks up. "You know that if you rush this, I'm just going to have to rearrange it again, and then this will take twice as long."

Taev makes a frustrated noise and throws her hands in the air. "You can do this when we get back! By the gods, Kher, you can rearrange the whole of Candlekeep for all I care, just not _now_!"  
Kher's features soften. "Taev, this won't take long. But the monks are not – and I love them to death when I say this, I really do – known to be organized. Some floors haven't been catalogued for the better part of twenty years. Without me to fetch things for them, they need to have a system they can use, or Candlekeep could be in ruins when we return." She turns back to give a sympathetic smile as she repeats, "five minutes."

Taev turns away. "Fine. Give it whatever structure you want. I'm just – bored." She begins to gesture in the air. "There's a whole, huge world out there, Kher, and we're _finally_ going to get to see it. And the longer we wait for you to—"  
"I'm finished," Kher interrupts, and stands.  
Taev blinks. "...really?"  
Kher laughs softly. "Yes, Taev. I'm finished. Are you really going to stand there talking about how much you want to get going, or are we actually going to get going? Wasn't there a new sword you wanted?" And her sister grins.

Taev sets the pace, walking with long strides so that Kher struggles to keep up, and eventually decides to simply trail behind. When she finally does catch up, she finds her sister standing by Winthrop, in front of shelves carefully arranged with wares.  
"Hey, Kher, which armor do you think I should get...?" Taev asks without turning.  
Kher waves a hand, heading for the stairs.  
"The best you can afford," she replies, noticing how Taev's gaze flickers back to a certain set. "Really, anything you want. I'll trust your judgment here. I'll be back in a moment; I'm going up to prepare our packs."  
Taev nods absently, still examining, and Kher leaves her to her task.

Their shared room is unlocked—considering the price paid at the gate, none here would have reason to steal anything except Imoen, and a simple lock wouldn't even slow her down.  
From under her bed, she pulls out a simple satchel. There is another wadded up inside it, and she shakes out the both of them from gathered dust. The wrinkled one is for Taev - in goes a lightweight change of clothes, a small pillow, a pocket knife and a piece of flint. Her own pack is similar, but she also adds two stubby candles, a multi-looped belt, and a worn book that had been resting on her bed.  
This done, she heads down the stairs once more, but turns a corner to reach the kitchens. She returns to Taev with filled packs, now weighed down with three apples each and broken-off chunks of cheese wrapped in cloth, as well as a canteen of clean, albeit metallic-tasting, water.

Taev is outfitted in silver armor now, the only distinguishing feature of which is that one shoulder is spiked and larger than the other, and looking decidedly intimidating. She is weighing a sword in her hands, twisting it and jabbing at imaginary enemies, but she smiles at Kher as she accepts her bag and slings hers on her back.  
"Come one, warrior, let's go," Kher says, and starts for the door.  
This is met with a frown. "Don't you need anything?" Taev tugs on the thin sleeve of Kher's robes. "Armor, perhaps?"  
Kher only shakes her head. "Anything more than this obstructs my casting. I'm sure I could manage after a few months of practice, but for now, it seems unnecessary. Besides," she adds with a smile, "I'm sure you'll take care of any threat that appears, o mighty warrior."  
Taev laughs, hefting her sword and beginning to follow Kher "of course. Nobody touches my sister if _I _have anything to say about it."  
"Hear these words and tremble, Faerun; the mighty Taev shall tonight be set loose upon the world."

They take the long route around, deciding to say their farewells to friends before their journey.  
Unfortunately, they forget that many of their friends are in the habit of asking things of them, up until the point that they are hailed by familiar and irate-looking dwarf.  
When they approach, deeming escape to be impossible, he says, "I've a task for you girls. There's rats in the cellar again. There'll be a reward if you get rid of 'em quickly."

Kher gives a pinched smile and a raised finger, and pulls her sister aside. She speaks in a hushed whisper. "Taev, didn't you say you took care of all the chores left?"  
Taev balks. "I did! I mean, I thought I did! I even sorted through straw for Phlydia's book!"  
"Well, you—" Kher pauses. "She left her book in _straw_?"  
"Yeah. And she gave me a gem for it."  
"Hm. That was very kind of her. ...and you said she didn't like you."  
Taev shakes her head, but is obviously pleased. "Still, what are we going to do about Reevok? Da- Gorion's expecting us!"  
Kher places a finger on her lips. "Mh... you go on ahead. Tell Gorion we're mostly ready, and I'm taking care of a... problem." She shoots a glance at Reevok before looking back to Taev, "I should be done by then."

She turns back to the dwarf. "I'll do it."  
He nods, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially, "I think the cats are in on it…"

This gives her pause, but she heads down. The chitter and squeak of scurrying rodents can be heard quite clearly here, and it gets louder with each passing second, until the sound reaches a peak and she is confronted with the source of the noise - surrounded on all sides by the grey-furred creatures. She eyes them each, a strange glint in her eyes.

As Taev walks away, she catches a glimpse of Kher, her hair fanning out as she stands in a circle of chittering rats and declares, "fear me; for I am the one they call Ratsbane!" before and swinging her staff wildly.  
Taev shakes her head with a smile; her sister always was an odd one.

When Taev returns, Kher is sitting on a wooden barrel, slightly bloodied fingers scratching at an orange cat's fur as it purrs. There's no trace of magic, either – apparently no need to waste spells when a staff will do the job just as well.  
"There now, kitty..." she coos, keeping with the façade, "you wouldn't really join forces with those nasty rats, would you?"  
The cat only meows, leaping gracefully from the barrel.  
Kher dusts herself off and stands. "Oh, hello, Taev. I didn't know you were back already. You should have said something." She grabs her staff from where it leans against a wall. "Are you alright? You look a bit pale."  
Taev's eyes widen. "I-? Oh! No, I just – had something to say."  
Kher, squinting and shielding her eyes as they walk into the light, says, "alright. What was it, then?"  
"I..."  
There's a pause. "Imoen just… said something weird..."  
Kher shoots her sister a smile. "Is that new?"  
Taev shakes her head. "No, this is different. Something about a letter of Gorion's."  
Kher slows her pace, but it's several moments before she speaks. "Really? And did she say what this letter was about?"  
"No. Just that he wouldn't want her tagging along because of it."  
"Huh. It's likely nothing, then. He sends many letters, and we read few of them. If this weighs on your mind, we can ask about it when we rest."  
"Yeah, I guess, but... Kher?"  
"Hmm?"

Taev taps the fingers of her left hand against her shoulder, the action resulting in faint, tinny noises. "I think… I think all this secrecy is because we're in some kind of danger. This morning, I – you know that room that's usually empty, the one by the barracks?" At Kher's nod, she continues. "I went to go find this old dagger someone stowed away in there years ago. I thought it might be useful, and I couldn't remember if you had ever gotten another one. I got... attacked."  
Kher blinks. "You what? Someone - who attacked you? One of the guards? Should I speak to someone?"  
Taev waves her hands, "not one of them, Kher. Someone new."  
Kher frowns, and says, slowly, "but we haven't had anyone new pass through the gates in weeks."  
"I know. That's what I thought. But I swear I'd never seen him before, and he attacked me, and now he's dead. I killed him. And Parda didn't seem surprised at all, just _sad_. And I was confused, and trying to sort it out, so I went to find you… and I thought, well, 'that's it and now I'm done with it.' So I told Gorion we were about ready to go, talked to Imoen, and..." She growls, frustrated. "I hadn't found the dagger earlier, and I still thought you might need it. I asked one of the watchers where I left it, they suggested some places, and when I went inside, I was attacked, _again. _I only got scratched, he died, but—"

Kher whirls on her. "You got _attacked_, and the first thing you mention is 'oh, Imoen was acting weird'? Do you even know what they were after? What if you had gotten hurt, really hurt?" Distress shows on her face and carries in her voice. "Why didn't you _say _something to me?"  
Taev scowls. "What would I have said? 'Oh, hey Kher, how has your day been, mine's been fine except for the parts where someone tried to shove a _dagger_ in my throat'?"  
Kher looks as though she wants to say something more, but then she deflates. "I could have helped."  
"Help- look at you, you're all... frail and wispy and _elven_. I can't exactly help wanting to protect you."  
"I should be the one protecting you. I _am_ older."  
"Sure, older, but you're an elf."  
Kher giver her a thin smile. "I think you're proving my point."  
"I prove no point but my own." She punctuates this with a falsely haughty sniff.  
Kher raises her nose and pouts. "Yes, well. Don't we have an odyssey to undertake?"

And they smile.

By Taev's direction, they find Gorion standing in front of the Library. He starts down the steps at their approach, and it is Kher who speaks first.  
"H'llo, dad," she greets. "We're ready now."  
He nods, and, gesturing away from them, begins walking past them.  
"Your sister said as much. Come, we must leave with haste."  
They trail behind him obediently.

As they walk past the guards and gate, Kher speaks.  
"You really won't tell us where we're headed?" she asks, walking close to Gorion.  
The gates are closing behind them, and she tries to keep her voice light. She has never been outside the walls of her Candlekeep, and it's difficult to suppress the feeling of loneliness that comes over her at that thought.  
He shakes his head, and it seems to her a solemn motion. "I'm afraid not, child," he says, "better you do not know."  
Not the answer she wanted, but one she expected. "I trust your judgment, father."  
Taev, up ahead, stops and turns. She grins, a fierce and exuberant flash of teeth. "Kher, you worrier, lighten up. Where's your sense of adventure? It's like we're going on a quest!" She mimics a swordfight, snatching up a branch and using it to fend off imaginary foes. "And the world had better look out. The three of us are unstoppable!"  
Gorion chuckles and shakes his head, and Kher must suppress a smile.  
"Look out world, indeed," she murmurs.  
It's a fine start to an adventure.

[A/N: Edited 12/7/12]


	2. Chapter Two: And an Unfortunate Night

Chapter Two

It's raining.  
Isn't it always, at times like these?  
The peace that Kher has come to associate with it, along with the promise of books read by candlelight, is absent, leaving only her heart beating hummingbird-fast and her head aching.  
Her stomach shifts as she sits, and she pauses in her actions, suddenly nauseous. She rubs at her temples listlessly, and as she waits for her head to stop spinning, she tries to recall what transpired.

They have slept in the mud, and cold water has, overnight, slipped into their resting place. It has seeped into her robes and caked her skin like clay. It soaks her hair, making it look, through the tangles, more and more like that of her sleeping sister.  
The gray light of dawn filters through despite the clouds, but in patches, reminding her of shattered glass.

She feels small and wet and helpless.  
And it's because—  
"_It's only one shortcut. Please? We'll get there quicker, and I know you've gotta be as tired as I am. We'll just go off the path this once—"  
_And her eyes burn, and she tries to suppress the coughs that lead into dry retching.

They had not been walking long.  
Four hours, at most, and were making better time than could be expected.  
She had not _really _been tired, but her body was used to worn seats and books, and as the only regular exercise she got came from rushing up and down library stairs to fetch another book, even this small bit of exertion was new to her.

He had acquiesced readily enough to their request, though she had suspected that they were not, in fact, diverging from the path so much as her sister would like. Still, it was enough to pacify her.  
She wished it hadn't been.

In the forest, it is too easy to hide things.  
They did not come at first, and it seemed that no real harm would come to them, no punishment for straying from the path.  
They were wrong.  
She was near dead on her feet when they came.  
She would say that, to her bleary eyes, they did not so much as step out from the foliage as _appear_ there, but Gorion might have told it differently if he—

_His stance sends jolts of adrenaline coursing through her, and she is filled with the rising desire to jerk her limbs forwards and flee, but she holds her ground, weighed down by fear as much as anything, her eyes darting over more that appear – one, two, three, four others, flanking them.**  
**Even if she wanted to run, where would she go?_

_The one who spoke had a voice like thunder – too poetic for he who has stepped from the forest with sword raised, but appropriate. She trembles like a leaf in a storm when he speaks, and she finds she cannot concentrate on his words.  
_"_Hand over your ward—"  
Your ward? He means – her? Her sister?  
_"—_and you will not be harmed, old man."  
Harmed? _Harm_—oh, oh, no, what's—?_

_And Gorion, ever-ready Gorion, has a spell on his lips before she knows what is happening. Many spells actually, some she knows, some she doesn't, flying toward the orcs. One of them falls, leaving an opening.  
An opening he urges her towards with a cry of "Run, child!"  
It is enough to send her into a hysteria of sorts, and she pulls Taev along, running blindly, branches scratching at her cheeks, her hair, her eyelids – and far too soon, there is the unmistakable sound of pursuit and _Seldarine they're gaining_._

_Fear makes her stumble as her foot catches on a branch, and she is sent tumbling to the ground, her sister's hand still caught in hers, and she thinks that this is it but there, there, there at eye-level—  
A hollow in the earth, carved out by an uprooted tree and widened by some animal that she can only hope is long gone as she pushes Taev through – gods, would she otherwise have doomed her too? – and follows, knocking her arm painfully against dry earth as she dives in.  
It is better than it had before seemed, and they both fit – absently, she muses that whatever gouged out the hole was large, maybe a gibberling, or even a bear – but if she found it, then so will he.  
And she hopes, she hopes that the spell she casts with fumbling fingers will disguise them, make it look like its just another tree stump or bump in the ground or – _oh_.  
He's _here_._

_The footsteps have slowed – she's not sure if he's spotted the deception, or thinks he's dropped the trail, or lost interest, but he's stopped and he's standing so close that she could just reach out and tug if she was feeling suicidal._

_A sword is thrust into the ground, and though the darkness impedes her vision, she imagines that it is dripping with blood – with Gorion's blood._

_She is not the only one to see this._

_Taev startles her then, in such a swift lunge that for a moment, as the younger girl strains against her, she thinks the both of them are going to tumble out into the waiting arms of their father's murderer.  
And she's scared, so terrified at the prospect of losing her sister and her father, and so she... she cast a sleep spell.  
As Taev succumbs to the effects of the magic, her blue eyes have never been so accusing. _

And then...  
Sleep, she supposes, for her as well. She does not remember closing her eyes. Only staring, waiting for… something. For Gorion to return, to shake her gently and chide her for nodding off, for… something happier.

She rolls over and sees that Taev is already awake, not sleeping as she had thought. Her sister's her legs drawn up to her chest, her eyes watching as she taps a jittery pattern on her knees. Her brown hair is not quite long enough to completely obscure her expression, but she certainly does a good job of trying.

"Taev?"  
Her head wrenches up and she gazes at Kher for a moment before she looks down again.  
Kher reaches for her. "...Taev?"  
Her sister jerks away from her at first, but when Kher reaches to pull her sister to her, she does not resist. Kher strokes Taev's hair as she murmurs, as her sister's body is wracked with silent sobs.

After a moment, Taev pushes away and her face is tear-streaked. "Why wouldn't you let me do anything?" she asks in a ragged voice, and at this her mouth wobbles and she blinks furiously, keeping further tears at bay. "I could have, I could have done something I could have stopped them—"  
Kher shakes her head, "no, Taev—"  
Taev's expression is one of despair. "You don't know that! You don't know that, I could have–"  
"No. No..." Kher breathes in deeply. "Gorion – he was–" This is too much, too fresh, too painful, and she amends this, "he _is_ the smartest and the bravest and the best man I have ever known, and he told us to run. He would not have done so if he – if he did not have a reason to."

She may not have the right words for this, but Taev is listening, at least.

Kher takes another breath and continues, "I am your elder, Taev. With Gorion—" she stumbles over the words, "with Gorion… gone, the duty falls to me to protect you. And he—" She gives a short laugh, breathy and bordering on hysterical, "can you imagine, how _angry_ he'd be if I let you die? And then – of course I'd die too because I'd have to try and kill them for killing you, and well, if they were able to kill you, they'd kill me too and - and – and where would we be then?"  
Taev's expression is one of disbelieving incredulity, but at least it's better than the grief.

"Now, Taev, we need..." she falters. What did they need? "We need to – to meet up with Gorion's friends. The ones he, he mentioned, at the Friendly Arm Inn. And maybe they can help. And find—"  
"And find the _dog_ who _slaughtered_ our father," Taev spits.  
"Yes." The answer is forceful, but if this is to be the driving force that will animate her sister, so be it.  
Taev rises to kneel, and she slides past Kher, turning back only to say, "then what are you waiting for?" before slipping out into the light.

Kher follows, stretching sore limbs, an unbidden smile twitching up the corners of her mouth as she lets herself relax in what is now a light drizzle—  
—and stops as bushes rustle, twigs snap, and something approaches.

Taev hears it too, and she tenses. Her hand darts to her sword, poised to fight.

Kher is not so prepared – her staff is stashed along with the packs where they had fallen asleep, and she does not think she can reach it before whatever made the noise is upon them. She stands taller, thinking of a spell, any spell – color spray is a general waste, magic missile could work if she—  
"Heya!" They hear, and, confused, they are given pause long enough to hear – "It's me, Imoen!"

Kher sags, and blinks as she sees the pink-haired girl trotting towards them.  
"_Immy_," she breathes, and meets her halfway in a quick hug.  
Imoen rubs the back of her head with a sheepish smile, "sorry I followed ya, but... I never get out of Candlekeep, and those monks...!"  
Taev lets her hand drop from her sword, satisfied that there is no present threat.

Imoen continues, and her smile drops as she says, "I – knew you were all up to something, and I wanted to come with you, so I slipped out this morning. I figured I could catch you at the Inn, but I… I am _so_ sorry, I saw what happened to Gorion, and I kinda figured something bad would happen to you out here. I couldn't just leave ya to fend for yourselves!"  
"Imoen," Taev starts, "what do you mean, you knew we were up to something?"  
Imoen's expression is rueful again. "I read a letter the other day. Can't remember _exactly_ what it said, but I know it mentioned something about new places. It might still be..." her voice cracks at this last bit. "Anyway, I'm not going to let you two wander around alone. Never one to let a friend alone, no sir!"  
She looks so determined that Kher bursts out laughing, which gets Taev grinning and Imoen pouting that she's not being taken seriously.

When their mirth dilutes, there's a moment of contemplative silence that Imoen finally breaks.  
"Soooo... we gonna get started anytime soon?"  
Kher looks to Taev.  
"What, me? I get to come up with the plan? Greeeeat," Taev groans, less than pleased. Then, "to the Friendly Arm Inn, of course. Does anyone here know how to get there?"  
No response, and Taev sighs. "Kher? Any map of the region in any 'a your books?"  
Kher blinks. "What I have is hardly extensive. The maps are incomplete, and went only so far as where we were last night – _there._" Her eyes widen and she looks like she's discovered something.  
"Kher?" Taev says, "y'wanna share the big revelation?"  
"Imoen..." she begins slowly, "said that Gorion had a letter, instructing us to go to this inn. It might... give us a general idea of where to go, then if we get it from..." she trails off.

Taev swallows, then nods. "You know where we came from? You were the one leadin' – before."  
Kher nods. "I have… a general idea." She takes a moment to pull their packs loose and retrieve her staff, and then they are on their way, stepping carefully through squelching mud, until they arrive in an area where the trees form a loose barrier.  
And there is Gorion.

His body is beyond repair. The spirit may linger for weeks, sometimes, after death, but with so much damage, and some of it magical... he cannot be restored.

Kher sucks in a deep breath, pressing her palms together and averting her eyes.  
Imoen's reaction is similar, but not so severe; she has seen this once before, today.  
Taev's hands clench into fists, and she stands, jaw clenched for a moment. Only a moment, though – then she is striding forward. Her voice is grim. "Come on, then. We've a job to do."

Kher's eyes are fixed on her sister, and her own voice falters. "Taev..."  
"I have done my crying," her sister replies. Though she does not turn back, and her shoulders are stiff, her voice is thick. "Tears will not help him. But what _will_ is finding his killer as soon as possible." Despite her words, her fingers shake as she crouches to search for the letter.  
After a long moment, she passes up a scroll, which Kher unfurls to read as Imoen peeks over her shoulder.

When her eyes have scanned the words, she rolls it up again and nods. "It's here. Directions, and an explanation... of sorts."

There is a pause, through which Taev is silent. Then, unprompted, she speaks. "I thought the rain was just a hindrance, but... it may turn out to have some use after all." She runs a gloved hand over the ground, and the wet dirt parts easily around her fingers. "It make it easier to bury him."

Kher's response is not verbal; she only lowers herself and begins to dig as Imoen does the same.

Three hours later, there is a hole of suitable size for the task. It has been done half by hand, and half by way of makeshift shovels - really only flat rocks.  
Kher stands back as Imoen and Taev lower Gorion into the hole.  
Slowly, without looking at his body or at each other, the sisters fill the grave.

"...we should say something," Imoen says as they are standing and brushing off the dirt. "You were closer to him than I was, but..."  
They watch the grave in silence, trying to think of the words.

Kher speaks first. "I... I don't know the funeral rites, but I can... I can say something. Gorion was... a good man. The best I've ever known. The best I _will_ know. He will be—he will be missed."  
Imoen nods, "by all who have known him."  
Taev finishes it. "And for this, we will make sure that he will not have died in vain."

Taev turns away. "Now we have to go. Kher, hold the map – it may still be of some use. We're setting off."

Kher is given only one last look at the final resting place of her father, the man who raised her and cared for her and reassured her when her magic turned wild, who will now never see if she will follow his teachings or not, never speak with her or see move on through life – and then it is out of view.

[Edited 12/11/12]


	3. Chapter Three: Steps to Nowhere

Chapter Three

'_If I ever meet an author of an adventuring novel, I'm going to choke him with his own book. Slowly._'  
They are not particularly nice thoughts, to be sure – but then, she is not feeling particularly nice at this moment.  
None of the stories ever mentioned this much _walking.  
_Or dust.  
Or the moments when they had to dive into bushes to avoid being gutted by an ogrillon.

For a while, the three had simply talked, but, over time, the conversation dwindled down into a volley of "when I get to the Inn, I'm going to" between her sisters. As this only made her painfully aware of her aching feet and the distance they had still to go, she trailed behind and drifted into her own thoughts.  
Thoughts that are, currently, centered around a theme of petty vengeance.  
'_Or maybe make them walk,' _she contemplates._ 'Have them suffer through the same indignities. Better, make them carry us. By the gods, they could have done a better job of _warning_—_'

Her thoughts are interrupted as her ears perk up. She can't be sure with all the chatter (it's Taev's turn now. She's been particularly detailed on this go, and Kher can't help but feel a touch of pride at the creativity) but it sounds like footsteps from somewhere up the trail.  
And footsteps, she knows, often belong to someone more unpleasant than they wish to deal with.

Kher walks a little faster, still behind them, but less so. "Imoen? Taev?"  
There is no direct response, and Taev continues her story.  
"—and take a _long_ bath, maybe with bubbles—"  
Kher raises her voice. "Listen, I think there's someone up ahead."  
"—and lavender soap, of course, with—"  
"Are you listening to me? Imoen, can _you_ hear me?"  
"—towels made of, I dunno, _silk_. And they'll be—"  
Kher snaps out her next words with a scowl. "Will you _hush?_ I'm certain there's—"  
"Ho there wanderers!"

This at last gains the attention of her sisters, and their talking stops as they are approached.

The man is old, his hair and beard a stark white made all the more evident by the brilliant red of his robes and hat.  
He seems... if not harmless, for any traveler here must be able to survive this long, then at least no immediate threat. None draw their weapons, though Taev seems wary.

He hails them with a note of cheer. "Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man. It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road, and I've been without decent conversation since. Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?"

"A fair bit of desperation, actually—" Kher begins. She is cut off as Taev sharply raises a hand.  
"Not to imply anything," Taev begins cautiously, "but how do you measure up to your own standards? Stopping strangers on the road to ask after their mental health doesn't seem all that well-adjusted to me."

He smiles at this answer, "point well taken, and thou hast answered my query most adequately. I shall think of thee as determined instead, and trouble thee no more. North is the Friendly Arm Inn, where I am certain thou shalt find trustworthy friends awaiting." He draws himself up and nods to them, "I have said too much and taken too much time from thee. Fare thee well." And then they are alone.

Taev watches his retreating figure with a scowl. "I'd like to know how he guessed where we're going," she mutters, but they continue on.

Their next distraction arrives after only another moment.

"Look!" says Imoen, pointing ahead.  
"Trees," Taev grumps, "like we've been seeing for the last three hours."  
Imoen clicks her tongue and swipes playfully at the sulking girl. "No, dummy, a sign! The Friendly Arm Inn is that-a-way!"  
"He _did _say the Inn was north," reminds Kher.  
Taev raises an eyebrow, seeming to be in marginally better spirits at this new information. "And you're going to trust directions from strange men? Thanks, but I'll stick with my own decisions."

The path winds east for a while, but begins to curve north soon enough. The trees thin out here, numerous enough to seem natural for a forest region, but with enough stumps to remind them that there are residents nearby.

Only a moment beyond the point where the road turns completely north, and they are approached again, this time by a man with a bow.  
His voice is stern, but not unkind. "If ye don't mind, please try to keep your voices down. There be beasties about with better hearing than we."  
Imoen huffs. "Hey, ya grouch... we weren't shouting at all. We're adventurers and we understand such things, ya know. Tell him, Kher!"  
Kher winces. The exchange has drowned out the soft birdsong, and she has no doubt that if there were any such animals that would be disturbed by such noise, they have long since been chased off.  
Taev seems unimpressed. "Let them hear! We are more than able to handle whatever comes."  
The man frowns at this, and so to appease him – and out of an additional sense of curiosity, and worry for what might lie in wait for them – Kher says, "you seem quite at home out here. What's the most dangerous thing you've seen out here?"

"The most dangerous thing I intentionally went after?" Not the question she asked, but it's put him off the earlier subject. "Stalked an ogre mage for a few days once. Had a party of me own back then. Killed the ogre, lost the party." He shakes his head, "not really worth the trade, if you ask me. I've seen more dangerous beasties, but usually over my shoulder as I'm making tracks as fast as I can. No shame in running when your life is on the line." Now thoroughly placated, he waves a hand at them good-naturedly. "Off with you now, I've meat to catch."

Just when he is out of sight and the path slopes to the northwest at a plateau, there is another obelisk, proclaiming, "Friendly Arm Inn to the North".  
Imoen nudges her sisters in turn, "y'see! We can't be too far now! Hurry up, I wanna get there soon!"

Eight hours later.  
Eight hours of mindless walking, trudging, covered in dust.

Half an hour into it, Kher pulled out her book, relying on the two ahead to steer her away from any roots or rocks with a gentle push. She was forced to return it to the confines of her pack when the sun set, which she would guess took place an hour ago.  
Taev's scowl threatens to become a permanent fixture, and even Imoen is hard-pressed to be cheery.

Kher has been contemplating bringing up the idea of stopping to rest for some time when she sees grey walls, looming in the distance, forming an impressive barrier around the castle-like building behind it. Both seem to be made of the same stone, though the gate, guarded by two severe-faced men in uniform, looks new.

And suddenly they are filled with renewed vigor and run for it, stopping only on the drawbridge as a guard speaks, "welcome to the Friendly Arm. I trust you know the rules of conduct within?"  
Imoen gives an impertinent grin, "nope! But from the look of ya they must be on the dreadfully borin' side!"  
Kher shushes her into silence so Taev can reply, "can't say I'm familiar with the particulars, but it's my guess that most are reliant on basic, common sense."  
He nods, satisfied. "Good then. Enjoy your stay."

Through the gates, there is a worn pathway – unnecessary, really, as the Inn itself can by seen by anyone with eyes.  
The stairs up are hidden from their first view, but as they round the corner, Kher bumps into someone heading down them.

Rather than apologize, or bluster and demand an apology, the man holds to her shoulder. He gives her a quick once over and an oily smile. "Hi, friend. I've not seen you here before today. What brings you to the Friendly Arm?"  
Kher blinks, mildly surprised. "We're here to meet—eep!"Her words are cut off by the boot Taev has planted firmly on her toes.  
Taev hisses something under her breath. Then, with a sweet smile to the man, she says in a falsely friendly voice, "nothing much, really. Just road-weary travelers, looking for a place to rest." They certainly look the part.  
"I see, I see. Pardon my being too forward," here he turns his attention to Kher again, and there is something in his stance that gives her pause, "but you've the bearing of someone I've been looking for. About your height, they were." He squints his eyes as if scrutinizing them – is this how he judges newcomers, on their heights? There are no major variations between the three of them in this regard. "Same style of dress, or thereabouts. I daresay, you seem to be the spitting image of them. Might you have traveled from Candlekeep, by any chance?"

Kher's distrust melts away. Wouldn't this be it? The friend mentioned? "Actually," she begins, "we – _eep!_" She jerks away, and casts a hurt look towards her sister.  
Taev's tone is casual. "I may have visited there on occasion. What of it?"

He gives a bored shrug. "Oh, nothing really. I'm just looking for someone from that region. In fact…" He smiles at Kher. "Would your name be Kher by any chance?"

Her eyes are wide as they dart to her sister. She wants to speak, but she fears the result, wants to trust, but fears the man. Taev answers, " never heard that name before in my life. Sorry."  
But his eyes are still on Kher, and his expression is one of smug triumph. "Really? I would beg to differ. You fit the description, so I think it would be safe to assume you are the one I seek. Don't move. I have something for you."

And poor Kher is blown back by the force of a spell hitting her square in the chest. Taev reels to see where she lands, and when she looks back there are four identical, equally sleazy copies.  
Imoen is already firing arrows that miss the target half the time, but two of the clones disappear as her arrows strike true.  
Unfortunately for Taev, her sword seems to be stuck in its sheath. As she fumbles with it, she uses the feet that caused Kher such pain to land a blow on the center mage.  
It knocks him off-guard, disrupting a spell that streaks into the night sky, and as he stumbles back, Taev reaches for her weapon with both hands, finally pulling it free.  
She swings it, and it slashes across two—one disappears, the other receives a gash on his stomach. He manages to fire another spell, however, and Taev finds herself stepping backwards, suddenly fearful before turning away and running in blind panic.

When she regains control of herself, Imoen is hefting her up from the ground.  
"...what happened?" she asks weakly.

Imoen inclines her head to where a guard stands, talking to Kher, who looks to be delivering a reprimand. "They finally noticed all the noise, and came to our 'rescue'."  
"Took 'em long enough," she adds.  
Taev nods, and clutches at her head. "If that's all over and done with, then, let's… head inside."  
Kher pauses a moment to say something else to the guard – this time, a word of thanks – and then she follows them up the stairs and into the Inn.

Inside, all are merry and laughing. '_Unknowing of the dangers beyond,' _Kher thinks, '_to travel into the over-spoken_.'  
Still, it reminds her of home.  
"The barkeep," Taev says quietly, "will likely know." Kher and Imoen agree. The image in Kher's mind is Winthrop. It won't be, she knows, but... well, the idea of a barkeep as a confidant sticks.  
He is found at the far end of the room, and, sure enough, he directs them to the ones they seek – a pair sitting at a table in the corner.

The woman is striking, with high cheekbones and wide set, slanted eyes, and the way she is surveying the room lends her an almost imperious air.  
The man has the opposite effect – he seems to be making an effort _not_ to merit attention, if the way he makes only small glances away from his hands is any indication.

But he looks up as they approach, and his eyes dart from Kher to Taev. He does not lower his gaze, surprised as he is, instead reaching to draw the attention of the woman. "There is… something familiar about you…"  
This is as much to them as to the woman. His next comment is, however, meant for them. "The pair of you, you remind me of a sage by the name of Gorion."  
The woman leans forward, her chin on her hands as she examines them. "It is almost a sleight on him, but I see it, too."  
The man balks. "J-Jaheira! Mind your m-manners!" he chides, then, "these must be them, the children Gorion wrote of."  
The woman – Jaheira – speaks. "We are old friends of your father." Her gaze appears troubled. "I see he is not with you, and I must assume the worst. Gorion would not allow his wards to journey without him."  
"If he has passed, we share your loss," the man tells them.

"You assume right," Taev says. "Gorion is… he has been slain, in… defense of us."  
Kher feels a hand close around her wrist – Imoen, who offers a sad smile.

"Gorion worried for your safety," informs the man. "He wished us to be your guardians, if harm should ever befall him. But you are older now, the choice of your companions should be your own. We _could_ travel with you until you get settled; help you find your l-lot in life."  
Jaheira nods at this. "It would be a fitting last service to Gorion, though we should first go to Nashkel. Khalid and I… look into local concerns, and there are rumors of strange things happening at the mine. No doubt you will have heard of the iron shortage?" At their nods, she continues. "You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you. We are to meet the mayor of the town, Berrun Ghastkill."

And then there is silence. Imoen is – waiting, it seems. Seeing if she will be involved here.  
Taev, Kher realizes, will be of little help here. She can lead her sisters, offer suggestions, because it's what she did within Candlekeep. But Kher was always the one to deal with the monks, to make decisions.

So she steps forward, and speaks. "We would welcome your company. If there is anything we can do to stop the iron shortage, we will of course assist you."  
And now Imoen is herself again. "Isn't it great? We made it through the forests with gibberlings and wolves—" Here she nudges her sisters, a quiet reminder of their capability. "—and now we're meeting _real_ adventurers!" She turns her attention to Jaheira, who seems less-than-pleased with Imoen's reaction.  
"Hey, Auntie Jaheira, I'm Imoen! A friend 'a these two… actually, more like a protector, ya know? Lookin' out for them an' all." She flips some hair aside as she speaks, almost smug.

"Adventurers generally do not call each other 'auntie', Imoen. But I have heard of you. Gorion had mentioned your friendship with them in his correspondence. You are welcome to come along."  
Imoen nearly squeals, and Jaheira shakes her head. "We will leave as soon as you are ready."

Kher is the one to reply. "As… gratifying as it would be to make immediate progress and head out now, it is late, and we have been walking longer than we have ever before. I fear we would collapse before we reached the gates."  
Jaheira sighs. "Rest then, and we will set out in the morning."

They speak to the barkeep – who evidently doubles as the innkeeper – and decide on one room, too poor for three and too tired to sort out who would go where in two rooms.  
They go through the usual motions mechanically. Beneath covers, they are certainly crowded, but cozy, too.**  
**Sleep has never come so soon.

[Edited 12/12/12]


	4. Chapter Four: Assassins Galore

Chapter Four

Kher wakes when the sky outside is still dark.  
She can see it through high-set windows, openings in the stone which provide little protection from the cold, but allow her to see how midnight mixes with plum beyond.

Imoen is mumbling in her sleep.  
This may be the reason she woke so much earlier. She rubs at her ears as she begins the slow process of extricating herself from the covers.  
Elven senses, she supposes. Again. They have brought her more trouble than not, she muses as she smoothes the covers back, having managed to wriggle free.

Taev, it seems, is sleeping soundly. They will need to wake at some point, but that time need not be now, and she has tasks enough to keep her busy until then. The task of getting their packs ready, for instance.

Imoen, having apparently bolted from Candlekeep's gates mostly unprepared, had begged and bargained from then nearly every morsel of food – she would need to replace that, then. The rest is easier, and composed mainly of sorting and realigning.  
She continues her thoughts as she sorts through everything.

In nearly every book she's read on the subject, elves have been described as having natural grace and beauty – when they weren't being described as pretentious meddlers, that is. It varied from source to source.

Indeed, she supposes that she might have possessed such qualities in greater quantities, should she have ever taken the time to improve upon them. Alas, in the great walls of Candlekeep, she found little use for either. Instead, she found that having ears attuned to hearing slighter sounds allowed her only to catch whispered threads of conversations or hear the skittering of tiny paws while she slept.

Besides this, she has little real evidence that she is really – well. She has spent so much time searching for these supposed differences that she sometimes used to think that they did not exist.  
She supposes she knows the difference now, but she is still apt to wonder, sometimes.  
...and, she admits as she stands once more, she is entirely too prone to useless threads of thought, an aspect which is likely a result of her own, prior actions.

In any case, nearly everything is together now.

Taev's armor rests on the floor near the bed, as does Imoen's – they'll have to switch those out later. Kher brought with her few clothes, believing that packing any more would be unnecessary, and so she has only the robes she wore as she left Candlekeep, light trousers, and a shirt.  
These last ones, she has slept in, and she slips them off in order to don her robes once more.  
She would much rather be able to sleep soundly in clean garments and walk in marginally-enchanted clothes, even if she does tend to trip on the hem of her robes.

She takes the packs with her when she descends, though she stumbles a little at even this relatively light weight.  
The barkeep – innkeeper? She's really not sure which she's supposed to use as his default title – is helpful in this endeavor, and allows her to purchase water and long-lasting food, as well as giving her advice on the roads ahead.  
She sets her pack in the center of the first table visible from the stairs, and speaks to the waitress in the language of coins to ensure that no one would disturb it.  
Her earlier weariness begins to set in once more, her mind no longer alert from kneeling on cold stone floors.  
This room, all soft light and warmth, is no help, and so she makes her way outside. Down the steps she goes, and she lingers a little while on the path, watching those around her go about their work.  
The sky has turned to pinks and purples when she returns.

The others are crowded around the table already, dressed and in various stages of eating. Though Khalid and Jaheira look prepared, and the only clue that Imoen is tired still is the way her eyes blink more slowly than usual, Taev's hair is so knotted that it reaches several inches higher than its usual chin-length, and she moves with her eyes squeezed shut.

Jaheira glances up from her pack as Kher reaches the table. "There you are. I trust you are ready?"  
Kher nods her assent, then turns to her sister. "…are you alright?" she asks, barely suppressed laughter infusing her words. Taev merely grunts and rubs at her eyes, and Imoen laughs, pulling her up by the elbow, "come on then."

Bags are slung, armor adjusted, last-minute checklists made. It does not take long, and soon enough they are passing by the gate guards once more.

They are not long out of sight of the Inn when they begin to discuss their plans.  
They agree not to tarry in Beregost unless necessary, and attempt to reach Nashkel before nightfall. There, they will convene with the mayor, and rest before investigating the mines.  
Most of this planning comes from Khalid and Jaheira, much more knowledgeable about the subject at hand than their three younger compatriots, who would agree anyway.

Scarcely ten minutes pass after this when Jaheira speaks. "I do not know how much Gorion has told you of us," she starts. "As you may or may not know, I am a druid, and not the gentle pushovers you find in fairytales. Regardless, I am well attuned to nature and the woods we travel within, and can answer any questions, should you have them." She seems resigned to this. Taev opens her mouth, but in her mood, she is likely to start an argument. Imoen is currently poking at Khalid, and so Kher gives it a try.  
"Jaheira? How… did you and Khalid meet?" Well, not the most tactful, but a harmless enough question, right?  
The look she gets is sharp, and she backtracks. "I mean I, uh, just wondered…" Well. Apparently not.  
Jaheira sighs. "This is a question for another time."  
She nods quickly. Right. Something less personal, then. She thinks back to the questions she used to scrawl in the margins of books (and to the tongue-lashing she received when a monk would inevitable find her scribbles) and remembers some of the questions the books could not satisfactorily answer. "How do you tell what's poisonous and what isn't? If you needed to?"  
Jaheira seems to think this is a more suitable query, as she answers this one, "in situations where such a thing is unavoidable, there are several warning signs to take into account. The color, for example, is more likely to be bright, noticeable. If this is not so, you must not assume you have correctly identified it. To be sure, separate the plant into parts—berries, roots, leaves. Then you must..."

Time passes quickly for Kher, who listens with rapt attention, barely noticing as the sun slips further up the sky.  
By the time they reach Beregost, it's noon.

It's a small town, and from one end you can see the end of the other, but it's a welcome sight.  
As they near it, Kher says, "I would suggest a bit of a respite at the nearest inn or tavern. Though we certainly could pass through without stopping, I would prefer to save our supplies if other sources present themselves."  
"An' my feet are killing me," Imoen adds. Which she has vocalized no less than a half-dozen times.  
Khalid and Jaheira share a glance, and then he says, "a b-brief pause would not be i-inadvisable."  
Jaheira concedes, "a brief one."

They have passed the first few buildings when they are hailed. "Good morning," greets the man, "I see you're new here, travelers. Is there anything I can help you with? Anything you need to know?"  
"Only the location of the nearest inn, if you would," Jaheira says.  
He turns and points, "the Red Sheaf has basic rooms, though the clientele is a touch rowdy. There is also the Burning Wizard and the Jovial Juggler, which have finer suites. The Red Sheaf is near the center of town, as is the Burning Wizard. The Jovial Juggler is a bit further along, and sits on the southern edge of the city."  
"Thank you for your assistance," Jaheira says, and he bobs his head, "no problem, friend. Enjoy your stay."

"The Red Sheaf, perhaps? For its nearness, and cheaper rooms mean more affordable provisions," suggests Kher.  
With no other way to know which would be better, they agree.  
"Huh, that's funny," remarks Imoen, "wonder why they out two inns right next 'ta each other…?" She shrugs it off as Taev begin talking of what to do, continuing even as they walk up the steps.  
"So only an hour here, at most," she is saying, "then back on the road—"  
"You're at the end of your rope, I'll wager." The voice that has cut in is rough and abrupt. "Not that it's anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done."  
A dwarf stands there, bouncing his axe – a battleaxe, she thinks, curved and sharp on both sides – in an attempt to look menacing. Taev seems merely affronted that this stranger cut her off, but Kher is taken aback. "Wait-hold-on-can't-we-talk-why-are-you-doing-this?" She blurts.

He shrugs, though this attempt at nonchalance ruined by the axe. "You've done nothing to anyone far as I know. Don't matter one whit to me." Here his tone turns almost gleeful. "A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living. Like I said, it's nothing personal."  
And he attacks.  
A wide swing sends Kher stumbling into a corner, and she flings her arms up in front of herself. His axe raises over his head, but as he brings it down, Khalid is there, shield raised to block the blow that bounces off harmlessly.  
Taev's sword is of little use here – the man has trapped them in the narrow space between the outside and the actual inn, and he stands in the doorframe, blocking them off.  
She manages a few stabs in the chinks of his armor, serving to distract him. Kher, now having regained her balance, jabs him square in the forehead with her staff, setting him off balance.  
He sways back and in one swift motion, Khalid's sword is at his throat, near severing his head.  
Blood spurts from the stump, and he falls, assuredly dead.

They sheath their weapons, and take a moment to assess their condition.  
Kher is staring wide-eyed at the body. "...perhaps we should find another inn."

But Taev is already striding towards the bar. "Oi!" She slams her hands on the counter, leaning close to the man behind it. "You let your customers attack – _with the intent to kill – _inside your establishment?" The ma's eyes dart from Taev to the ret, nervous, but they make no move towards either of them. She continues, "not only that, I didn't see _you_ doing anything when the man pulled out an _axe_ and _charged_. In fact, It's a wonder that anyone feels safe here."  
She shrugs suddenly, languidly. "Doesn't matter to me now, but I'm sure the nice folks in Nashkel would be wary of such indifference."  
The man who was before already flustered by her words, licks his lips nervously, eyes darting from her hands to her eyes to the sword on her back.  
He clears his throat. "What do you want?"  
A grin, as she leans back on her heels. "Recompense."

Which is how they find themselves leaving Beregost weighed down with several extra pounds of thick-crusted bread and fresh flasks of water, though, the bloody sword and capable looking companions likely helped.  
And they are further blessed, as none more block their path.

The sun drops, the air cools, and it is past dusk when the lights of Nashkel float over the horizon.

Even from a distance, they can see that Nashkel is far bigger than Beregost. Busier, too, as evidenced by the infantry that march past them, so many that they have to squeeze to the side to even pass over the bridge.

"Identify yourselves!"  
Kher starts and jerks her head around, sending Imoen into a fit of giggles.  
A man in armor blocks their path, and it seems that it was he who spoke.

Jaheira looks upon the girls in exasperation and sighs, taking it upon herself to answer. "I am Jaheira, and I wish a conference. I hear this is a troubled region as of late."

"If you're seeking to resolve troubles, welcome." His face turns grim. "If you're seeking to cause them, kindly take it elsewhere… things are not good here."  
Taev shakes her head. "You'll have no trouble from us, I assure you." Her words are, Kher knows from experience, born less from true good intent and more from the desire to finish the conversation – still, her sister means it.  
He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. "I should hope not, for your sake and mine… carry on, then."

Just past him there is a sign – an inn, and they agree to stop for directions.  
They are barely through the door, when they are again approached. "Just fancy my luck seeing you stroll in here, bold as day!"  
The woman who approaches them walks with long, confident strides, and her lovely face bears a wicked grin. "I expected a hunt and a chance from the description, but who am I to argue easy coins?" May the Lord of Shadows guide you swiftly to your death!"  
Kher, again, blurts out, "hold-on-how-do-you-even-know-we're-the-ones-you're-after-won't-you-wait-a-moment-and-tell-us-who-you-are-and-maybe-the-we-can-get-this-whole-thing-sorted-out?"  
To her surprise, this works to an extent. The woman executes a shallow bow. "I am Neira, a hunter of bounties, and on _your_ head is a lovely little sum. Does this satisfy? No matter." And then she, as did the other in Beregost, attacks.  
This fight is much shorter – though Taev is incapacitated by a paralyzing spell, Jaheira knocks off the woman's helmet, and Khalid again lands the killing blow.

When Neira falls, Taev jerks herself out of paralysis. Whether the spell released upon its caster's death or was simply worn away by time, Kher is unsure.  
"Hey, lookit, Kher!" When she turns, she sees Imoen, the odd helm upon her head. "I can see the way you do! It's one 'a them helms of infravision!" Kher gives a short laugh at this, glad for a distraction.  
Behind her, Taev crouches to retrieve something protruding from her belt loop – a scroll. Out of habit, she passes it up to her elven sister. Kher's hand reaches to her belt and pulls from a pouch a similar scroll, one gleaned from the corpse of the interloper at the Beregost inn.  
Her eyes scan the parchment, and narrow in dissatisfaction. "'Be it known,'" she reads in a low voice, "'to all those of evil intent—'" She casts a glance up, and sees that their two protectors are now listening as well. She continues, skimming the scrolls. "That a bounty has been placed… proof of the deed… two hundred coins of gold…' and then 'six hundred and eighty' on this last one." She lowers the parchments. "A bounty. On our heads. And the numbers grow."  
She folds them, and places them in the pouch, and when she speaks again, her voice is dry. "If events as these continue, we will certainly need to rest now, or face an assassin in every inn."

Uneasy as this encounter makes them, they do. Still, it has caused their words to dried up, and they speak little, even to each other.

They leave at the first light.

It makes no apparent difference that they, in the confusion of the night before, forgot their plans of asking after the location of mayor – he approaches them, telling him that he recognizes Jaheira and Khalid. He gives them directions to the mines, and wishes them luck.

From Nashkel to the mines, the terrain shifts enough that their attention is focused solely on their next step. More than once, one of them slip, betrayed by a false sense of stability, and has to be caught mid-fall, or, more often helped up from the dust.

The relief is almost palpable when the ground begins to even out, and they see evidence of activity. Stairs down lead to an open area peppered with carts of ore and the occasional person.

The man at the far end looks the most official, though, and it is he that they approach.  
His face visible hardens as they near, and it is with narrowed eyes and a tight voice that he addresses them. "More adventurers," he growls. "Of course. Can't get the guard to step one foot in the deathtrap, but I can get all the ruddy adventurers from here to Baldur's Gate." He appears to be grumbling to himself before he jabs a finger in their general direction and speaks again. "You've got one day. If I see you meddling about after that, I'll – I'll – I'll have a new shaft dug fer each of ya! Is that clear?" Kher, at the forefront of this tirade and wide eyed, nods vehemently.  
"_Good_," he emphasize. He waves a hand as if to dismiss them. "Get on with ye, then."

As they approach the entrance to the mine, a guard steps to the side. "I heard," he informs, "and I wish you luck. Whatever's causing all the trouble isn't something I'd want to run into."  
This is... not an encouraging thought.  
With this sentiment ringing in their minds, they step into the darkness.

[Edited 12/18/12]


	5. Chapter Five: The Descent

Chapter Five

The mine is dark. What little light there is emanates from the occasional lantern set between cracks in the stone, and even this does not seem enough to lift the oppressive darkness. Kher finds that even she must squint to see beyond a few feet, and she huddles closer to her sisters out of instinct. Rarely has she ever been faced with any actual need to make use of her infravision, and to view this now, through eyes almost new, is – an unwelcome sensation.

She breathes in the scent of stone, of minerals, of things heavy and damp.  
It only makes the transition more complete. There's no mistaking any of this for something familiar.

Still, from somewhere far ahead, she thinks she can feel the faint trace of a breeze. A difference in air temperatures, she thinks dimly, but there's no real interest in it. What they hope to find here, she doesn't know, but she hopes they find it quick. With the mine's narrow passageways, she can already feel the growing discomfort.  
She tightens her grip on her staff and attempts to squelch the desire to run back into open air.

A man – a miner, not a guard, judging from the sheer amount of dirt caked on his skin and in his hair, and the slightly-ragged state of his clothes – glances up at them wearily only a few steps into the mine.  
He folds his hands over the top of a tool of some sort - to what ends, she cannot guess –and regards them steadily, not in the least surprised by their appearance.  
"I'd get out while you still can, if I were you," is his warning. "I've heard stories about what happens to those that go deeper."

Imoen is the first to respond – breezy and cheery as always. "Oh, we'll be alright. We're adventurers, y'know. Heroes. 'm sure it's no problem at all." She waves her hand about with over-exaggerated carelessness, as if to complete the appearance of nonchalance.

The man only shakes his head. "Hmph. No concern of mine if you go and get yerself killed." Despite his words, he is smiling as he speaks, if only faintly – apparently charmed by Imoen's nature, just as everyone eventually is.  
Jaheira looks less pleased, her mouth pressed down in a hard line, though this may be born out of an impatience to get on with things. Whatever the reason, Imoen assumes a look of false severity when their guardians of sort again set forth, setting her back ramrod straight and walking in a stiff march.  
Kher and Taev, both behind, laugh quietly.

That didn't seem to be any portent of their imminent doom, did it? No, that seemed perfectly ordinary, even comforting in the brief amount of levity it brought. They are surrounded by stone and darkness, yes – and the miners carry on in this way just fine. Sure, it's not the most cheery of scenes, but there's no need to dread their task. They're just here to look into some rumors. Harmless ones, at that! And they are not alone down here.  
Kher finds herself nodding at these thoughts, lulling herself into a sense of tenuous security.

As it turns out, the rest of the miners are even less verbose. Attempts to speak with them, for information, directions, or otherwise, are bet with vague, short answers at best.

After several dead-ends and passageways winding into nothing, they figure out enough of the layout to begin taking more steps forward than back.  
One path leads to another, and this path begins a definite slope downward. It is there that they are approached.  
Khalid and Jaheira, as with path-finding before, take the lead.  
Kher is only paying partial attention to their words with another miner – something about a lost dagger and someone named Kylee - when she feels something ghost across her neck.  
A hand.

Her confusion lasts only seconds, and is delayed from morphing into panic at the realization that this hand belongs to the same person who is now slinging their arm around her shoulders.  
"You look," says Taev lowly, casting her a sidelong glance, "like a ghost, dear sister."  
"Mh." Kher keeps her eyes on the trio ahead, who now appear to be finishing their discussion. The man leaves, and they are waved ahead. "Pale? Or mournful?"  
"Pale," her sister replies, now twisting a strand of hair between her fingers – hair that she once, in the right light, might have called golden. Now, it is coated with the dust of many miles and flecked with the blood of her assailants, and it has taken on the pallor of ash.  
And then Taev lets the strand fall limply, and her gaze turns purposeful. "Though… I wouldn't rule out mournful for you quite yet." Her tone sharpens with the edge of her question: "Are you…?"  
Kher shakes her head. She has an idea of what she is denying. "I am... well enough. I am coping."  
"Hm." Her answer does not appear to suffice. "You needn't be silent on these matters. This is not your burden alone to carry and – hold." Taev thrusts her arm to the side, barring Kher from moving forwards. Younger Taev may be, but she has always seemed to regard Kher with an air of protectiveness, and the appearance of something rushing from the darkness constitutes a threat as much as anything.

A man comes into view, his attempts at running hindered by an injured leg, forcing him to limp.

At the sound of rapid footsteps, Imoen's hand was drawn to her bow; she relaxes this hold now, but even from behind, Kher can see her shoulders remain hunched.

"Please!" he gasps, clutching at the shoulders of Jaheira, nearest to him. "Don't let them get me!"  
Jaheira plucks his hands from her. "Calm yourself," she instructs firmly. "Don't let _who_ get you?"  
The man is not given the chance to answer. He jerks back with a shrill cry and claws wildly at his neck – where, she can now see, an arrow sticks out, piercing the skin neatly.  
His movements slow; he falls, and gurgles, then is silent.

Beyond, on the edge of the darkness, she sees the cause for this.  
Several strange creatures, skin colored in dull reds and bearing glinting teeth – two, three, four feet in height? – come crawling, bounding from some place the light of the lanterns cannot reach.  
Each is armed with a bow, which they use to send forth a volley of arrows.

Several events happen in close succession.

Imoen's hands again dart to her back, and her hands tremble as she notches an arrow. Kher is no better – she fumbles with her staff until she realizes that a spell would be better at this distance.  
Both Taev and Khalid draw their swords, though the latter slides into a stance that suggests far more experience.

Their movements show this similarly – Khalid knows where to aim, how to cause the most damage, and under his sword, two of the creatures fall swiftly.  
Taev hacks and slashes and puts power into her swings, but they slow, and rigid. Still, she fells another shortly.

Jaheira wields her staff like nothing she's ever seen. One moment, she moves as if to slash with it, to swing, and the next, she is using it to crush the skull of one of the monsters that has gotten too close.

Imoen looses an arrow; it flies true, and embeds itself deep into the eye of one, killing it.

Kher begins the incantations of a minor draining spell, thinks of people falling ill, their life pulled away, raises her hands - however, this last event is delayed enough that the remaining creature is able to fire off another arrow, one which lodges in her shoulder. She wheels back in pain, and clamps her hands together. She tries to envision magic failing and sputtering through a mind in a haze of distress. For what it's worth, it works – she draws nothing from the creature, now smashed beneath Taev's heel, but neither does she pull health from her companions.  
Her guardians, her sisters – all are safe.

She'll have to learn to concentrate better. She doubts she would have done any real damage to them, had she failed to cancel the spell, but she doesn't like that the possibility existed. And it won't do be so useless in the future.

Jaheira draws her from her thoughts with a hand laid gently on her arm.  
Kher is momentarily confused – but, of course, there is still the arrow embedded in her shoulder.  
"Hold still," the woman murmurs. Kher obeys, squeezing shut her eyes, and with one sharp movement, the arrow is freed.

She reacts with a low whine, slowly clenching and unclenching her fists to relieve some of the pressure, though she's lucky, she knows. An arrow could easily tear flesh if pulled at an angle.

Jaheira surveys the wound, and asks, "have you a healing potion?"

Kher runs a quick inventory of her pack in her mind, trying to figure out, after the earlier rearranging and balancing, exactly who had what. "…no," she says finally. "Taev has them. I can go and get her, to ask her for one."  
Jaheira shakes her head. "That will not be necessary. Here." She places her hands on either side of the wound, and Kher realizes what she is doing.  
"Oh, no, you don't need to - I mean I – I'm… fine…" She trails off lamely as the feeling of magic washes over her, covering her senses in a wave of comfort that leaves her arm feeling cold and slightly numb.

When Jaheira pulls away, she rolls her shoulder, and feels only a lingering ache.  
"...thanks."  
Jaheira nods, and motions her forward.

Imoen, it seems, has done a bit of looting. Her own bow is tossed in with the heap of objects deemed useless, cast aside in favor of one previously held by one of the little monsters. Her quiver as well is much fuller, and she appears to be gleefully sorting through glittering odds and ends, a coin or two among them.

The man – his corpse, she supposes, and she winces – is no longer splayed haphazardly across the floor of the mine. No, it – he - is now arranged with some semblance of dignity.  
She suspects this is Khalid's doing, as she is doubtful either of her sisters pay much mind to last rights, or would perform the task without excessive complaint.

"What are these things?" asks Taev, nudging one of the bodies with her foot. Her gaze darts upwards, to Kher, showing that the question was not rhetorical.  
"Ah..." Kher falters, trying to reconcile the image of the snarling, bat-eared creatures with the charcoal sketches she's seen in beastiaries. "These are... kobolds, I believe."  
"Kobolds? These things?" Her sister kicks the body away with a look of distaste. "Huh. Feisty little pests, aren't they? Right, well…" She straightens. "Now what?"

There are paths to the west, the northwest, and to the northeast.  
The path northwest is more well-lit, and Taev notes that the kobolds seemed to come from that general direction. Not entirely encouraging, though an indication that the passageway does not cut off in a dead-end.  
They find only one other kobold along the way, and it is dispatched with barely a glance.  
They turn a corner to find life here – not more kobolds, to their relief, but miners and guards.

Kylee is found quickly enough, and he accepts his dagger gratefully.

They inform one of the guards of the unfortunate miner slain by the kobolds, as well. The guard promises that something will be done about it, but does not clarify what this will be, and as they begin to backtrack through the cavern's only opening, he makes no move to leave.

Kher no longer feels that same sense of security.  
They are alone here, with none able or willing to come to their aid – or perhaps not alone enough.

They backtrack, and follow the path running northeast. Luck is on their side, it seems: there are no kobolds here to ambush them.  
One sharp turn later, and they stare into darkness once more.  
("You know," remarks Taev, unprompted, "I really, really loathe mines. Can they not even invest in enough light sources?")  
The path slopes down here. They step carefully, one after the other – Khalid first, then Jaheira, Taev, Imoen, and finally Kher, clutching at her staff like a lifeline as she trails behind.  
When they again find themselves on level ground, she hears Taev curse up ahead.  
This frustration, she finds, is not entirely unwarranted. Three new paths lie before them, which likely split off into others.  
They go forwards – any path running east would go directly under the section they had come from, so what they saw must either taper off or lead back, and they would be going forward again. They reason, also, that the mines have been designed to be _somewhat_ simple to navigate.

The path leads to a bridge over running water -  
("A river?" Imoen asks, surprised, "underground?"  
"It's not that surprising if you think about it," Kher says, "I mean, the water has to come from somewhere.")  
-where two more kobolds lie in wait.

Jaheira casts a spell to make one turn on the other, and with some help from them, it falls. The Charmed kobold follows them as they come to yet another divergence.

There is a trail to the left, and a dimly lit cavern ahead. Kher can hear chittering from within, and she draws into herself. "I would suggest passing this particular passageway unless absolutely necessary," she advises, and the others agree readily.

Ahead they go, creeping quietly, and all seems well. Kher begins to feel hopeful – they've made it this far with little trouble, why should they not be able to continue in this manner?  
This enthusiasm fades when she sees what lies at the end of the passageway.

They have walked into an ambush of sorts.  
Where they have gone, the mine widens, seemingly to allow more kobolds.  
All are armed, all are looking their way.

Her companions react faster than she, springing into action to be rid of those who block their path, rather than simply stare in horrified awe as she does.

One of the kobolds forward to grab hold of her staff, which jolts her from her reverie. She shouts a panicked note as the creature starts crawling up it, then resorts to instinct and bashes it against the floor, using the sharper rocks near the ground to her advantage, until it falls.  
Another, it seems, has the same idea – it attempts to scurry up Imoen's leg using gaps in the leather armor as leverage. When Imoen kicks it away, Kher fires a magic missile at it.  
She knocks one off-balance to be crushed underfoot with her staff, Imoen fires an arrow another kobold's skull just below the ear, and this appears the last of them.  
Kher notes that Jaheira is now wielding what looks to be two flaming short swords. She'll have to ask how to do that later.

While Imoen is retrieving arrows from the corpses and Taev is wiping the worst of the gore from her sword, she takes this moment to carefully pick her way through the carnage and assess her surroundings.

The 'room' narrows once more into a passageway at the other end, winding out of view. A lantern is set into the stone just before the path turns away, and she can make out the glow of another from somewhere up ahead.

She's about to go on – even has her foot in the air and everything – when she is pulled back by a gentle tug of her robes.  
Imoen is there, shaking her head. "Hold on, she says. "I want to check something first."

Kher nods and steps back.  
Her sister walks just past where Kher had been, where the way forward became clear, then crouches. She frowns at some unknown thing as her fingers reach out and pull at the air near the ground. She works at this for a few seconds, then moves several feet to the right and repeats these motions.  
A moment later and she is standing, dusting herself off with exaggerated flourishes.  
"Trap," she says simply, holding up a piece of twine that is far more visible against the harsh lantern light emanating from the passageway than it was against the dark cavern floor. "Dunno what it woulda triggered, but I'll bet it wouldn't have been pretty.

Kher is left blinking. "...well. I suppose I'll have to be a little more careful next time. Thanks, Immy."  
Imoen scoffs even as she grins. "'Thanks.' You owe me one, and you know it."  
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll buy you the biggest, shiniest, most useless bauble you could set your greedy eyes on as soon as we get out of here."  
She matches Imoen's smile with one of her own  
There's a clink of armor and a bemused snort, as well as a faint chuckle, and then Jaheira strolls past them, taking the lead.  
They follow along behind, and Imoen speaks again.  
"Naw, you don't hafta buy me anything, but you can help me out. You know that spellbook, the one that used to belong to that Tarmesh? Well, there's a spell in there I'd like to try. I think I've mostly got the hang of it…"

The passageway is winding, serpentine, and narrow. Little problem minors, with only cloth upon their backs, but causing more of a strain on they, more heavily weighed down. At one point it narrows so that Imoen and Kher, less burdened by, respectively, light armor and no armor at all, have to slip through as the others pass them their packs and armor so that they, too, could pass.

Taev was half-in her cuirass when three kobolds turned up, and Taev's ire at being interrupted meant that they were subsequently cut down and looted.  
It's not long after that they come to a part of the passageway where their course smooths out. They can hear water running up ahead, as they stay hidden behind an outcropping of rock.

Imoen volunteers to scout ahead with a long-suffering sigh. She creeps past them to peer around into whatever could be beyond. Her studies last only a moment, and then she returns and informs them of the layout of the room.  
According to Imoen, the 'ceiling' rises up ahead, and there is another cavern surrounded by water except for a strip of rock. The cavern is filled with skeletons and kobolds, positioned to see the group before they could get past. "And the kobolds have bows," she adds.

The group pauses to formulate a plan, and, surprisingly, it's Taev who speaks first.  
"Kher..." she starts, "don't you have some long-distance spells prepared? Magic whatzits?"  
"...you'll have to be a bit more specific, Taev. It's _all_ magic."  
Taev waves this off. "Yeah, yeah, you got something or not?"  
Kher sighs, trying to look exasperated, though her smile ruins the effort, "yes, Taev. I have long distance magic whatzits."  
Taev nods as if this is perfectly normal. "Good. You and Immy can get off a few shots. Distract 'em. Khalid, Jaheira, and I will go after them then. Right?" Jaheira nods her consent and Khalid speaks a few words of approval, and Taev looks pleased.

Before they enact this plan, Taev motions her sisters closer. She slings her pack off her shoulder and kneels to rummage through it, finally puling out three slender blue bottles.  
"Here," she says, holding them out gingerly. "I'm not sending my fragile sisters out in the line of fire with no means of protection."  
Kher and Imoen both obediently take one, then hesitate.  
Then Imoen shrugs and says, "you take it then, my pack's full up." She narrows her eyes and smirks. "Slave drivers." The last comment was directed to Taev, who fakes innocence.

When the potions are safely stored, Imoen and Kher step out slowly on opposite sides, their backs to the wall. Kher holds her staff in one hand, the other poised for casting.  
Imoen is facing her, the bow outstretched towards the monsters, one hand steadying and setting straight the arrow, the other on the bow itself. She nods, and the tiny foes find themselves on the receiving end of some particularly nasty attacks.

Imoen lets loose a volley of arrows tipped with a compound that burst into flame where it touches unprotected kobold skin – Kher is going to have to speak her with enchanted objects later, she notes – while her magic tears at the skeletons' brittle bones.  
Two of the kobolds are felled before they can get off a shot.

Khalid meets a skeleton in the middle of the bridge. It manages to drag its splintered fingers across his face before a powerful blow sends it into the water in pieces.  
A spell from Jaheira wraps the rest of the fiends in tight vines, and the party makes short work of their snarling foes.

And then they are standing in front of the cave-within-a-cave.  
Kher and Taev exchange glances. This is it. Taev grins, a fierce flash of teeth, while her sister only looks worried.

Kher grips her staff in both hands and gingerly pushes aside the makeshift door, cautious of foes.  
There are none to be seen here, and so they all step in. The cave diverges into three sections: a darkened one ahead that each instinctively shies away from, a larger, open area to their left with a torch set into the stone nearby, and then, to their right, a wall with an actual door built into the rock.

As they contemplate which direction to go, a kobold creeps out from the center passageway, and then another, and then another, delaying in-between.

Khalid slays the first in a single motion; Jaheira skewers the second upon her spear, and shrugs the body from it; Imoen loops the sting of a stolen bow around the neck of the last and pulls it in, where Taev lops its head off with ease.  
After this, they wait, but none more emerge.

A hand laid on Jaheira's shoulder draws her attention to Kher, who points to the door. "If there is someone orchestrating nefarious deeds here," she says quietly, "they would likely be past that. There may also be further reinforcements in the other, and we may wish to dispatch them before continuing on."

Jaheira appears to be contemplating these words, then nods. "Then we will start with that. Stay here with Imoen. Warn us if the situation changes. Khalid, Taev, with me." And the three make their way through into the open space, Taev trailing behind the experienced fighters.  
"...Huh!" A glance at Imoen shows she has her hands on her hips as she looks at the retreating figures, shaking her head. "Wouldya look at that! Someone bossier than ol' Puffguts! I never thought – well, what now?"  
Kher has raised her hand, and is frowning.  
"Did you hear something?" she asks, brow furrowed. "From the center passageway?"  
Imoen puffs out her cheeks. "Naw, nothin'. Y' sure it's not just them over there?" She jerks a thumb in the direction of the others.  
Kher nods slowly. "It... might have been. It's this place… It's hard to tell where sounds are coming from here. I guess noises might just echo, when they – wait."  
Imoen looks less certain, now.  
"...keen elven ears?" she asks, only half joking, and then her smile drops down into something sharper. "You don't think it's another kobold, do you?"  
Kher casts a look into the darkness ahead. "Maybe… Imoen, should I… go and see?"  
Imoen shifts uncomfortably. "Bossypants said to stay put."  
Kher knows what this means. She nods slowly, but her gaze drifts away from Imoen all the same. "I think," she says after a pause, "it should be fine. It can't be particularly deep, and you're here, and it'll be… fine."  
This is more to justify it to herself, and to quiet the fluttering in her stomach when she walks closer.  
Still, Imoen pipes up. "I'll… I'll come in and getcha if you're not back in…" she trails off.  
Kher nods anyway. "Right. And it's just a noise."

She takes a few tentative steps inside. The change in light is not instantaneous, however, the position of the lantern means that very little actually reaches inside.

At about five paces in, the light levels have dimmed enough that she must wait, hand resting on a wall, for her infravision to kick in. Even when it does, she can only see vague outlines, but it's enough to keep from tripping over some unknown obstacle.  
The noise is louder from here; the faint but distinctive clink of metal. Not a kobold, then. She keeps her impatience at bay, burying the desire to rush forwards and discover the source of the noise, see if it poses a threat. She is scared and she does not want to be, and the anger this giver her moves her feet forward.  
Every three steps, she pauses, and glances around. It does not seem to be a very large chamber. She sees the ceiling and judges it too shallow for that.  
The longer she goes without seeing anything, the tenser she gets, gripping her staff in hands made almost bloodless. She knows, she knows, that there are people, friends, waiting for her who, friends who would not hesitate to rush to her rescue if they believed she needed it.

She is becoming aware of another sound as well; the shifting of fabric, and then… a soft groan.

She presses her staff to the ground, an anchor, and her breath stops in her throat.

She is close enough to see, now, a shape – not the sharpness of cave formations, but something softer, larger, something moving.  
A man.  
A man held captive here, bound alone in the darkness. The clicks emanated from - a chain? Yes, a chain, wrapped around his leg and connecting to a metal plate fixed to the wall. His wrists appear unbound, pressed against the floor.  
He is slumped on the ground, his head down, and every once in a while his head lolls slightly.  
Alive, certainly, but well? No, he does not appear well.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, she loosens her grip on her staff and lays it aside, where it rests against a wall of the cave. Her face is frozen into an expression of mixed surprise, hesitance, and fear – but not of fear of him.

She doesn't seriously consider the idea that this might be a trap. No, this is too elaborate, too real.  
And she has been taught to trust all within Candlekeep. Any who made it through the gates were welcomed with open arms, and as learned as she may be in the teachings of the monks, she knows very little of anything beyond.  
And this works to her benefit, this moment.

She hovers a foot from him, unused to the necessity of taking charge, but finding that words – words she would use to call for Imoen – stick in her throat now. Her hands tremble at her sides.  
She has been taught to care and to protect, and she will have to do that now.  
She kneels.

"Hey," she murmurs. "Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

His response is slow to come, delayed by – she doesn't know. But she suspects, and _what_ she suspects is not pleasant.  
The robe he wears – really, that hangs off of him – is vivid beneath the dust. It is difficult to check for injuries with it, but as he shifts slowly, as if coming awake, she attempts to look him over. There are no open wounds or snapped bones as far as she can tell – and the thought makes her wince, even as she knows the possibility had been likely – but what little she can see of his face appears gaunt.

His hair hangs limply, and between this and the angle of his head, she cannot see his expression. Is he charmed, perhaps? Put under a spell and made to sleep? She places a hand beneath his chin and pulls gently until his face is raised to her, and though he blinks occasionally, he does not acknowledge her. She sees, now, the tips of his ears – an elf, then. He can see her – or should.

What, then, can she do?  
Nothing – nothing here, anyway.

She rocks back on her heels and turns her head back towards the entrance. "Imoen," she calls, almost a whisper, and then, "_Imoen!_"  
A moment, and then there is the padding of footsteps.  
"Kher?" Imoen's voice is faint, but she thinks she can hear a note of worry. "Kher, are you okay?"  
"Yes, I'm fine, but–" For a moment, she glances back at the man, still unresponsive, and then back to Imoen. "Oh, Imoen, I need your help. Can you come closer? Can you see?"  
"Not much. Where are you?"  
"Straight ahead. The path's mostly clear. Just take small steps, and – and you'll get here. ...Imoen, you're been learning to pick locks, right?"  
In the darkness, she can hear Imoen snort. "Course I have. You know that."  
She smiles faintly. "I know. I have a lock that needs opening."  
"Ya found a chest? Maybe it's treasure!" Imoen is close by, now, and Kher instructs her to kneel. "Or iron, that'd be worth the same, right?"  
"No. No, Imoen, it's –" She is, momentarily, at a loss for words. "It's not treasure. Imoen, there's a person here."  
Imoen sucks in a sharp breath. "A person? In _here_? How–?"  
Kher shakes her head, though she knows Imoen cannot see the action. "I don't know, Immy, but I need your help to get him out, alright?"  
Imoen makes a faint noise of agreement, and Kher guides her hands to the lock. "Do you think you can do it?"

She hears Imoen's breathing steady out from its shakiness, and when she speaks, she has the first note of confidence in her voice. "Can I pick a lock made to last against a person bound to it in utter darkness? Course I can do it. Just, ah… gimme a minute…" She traces the padlock, studying it, and Kher knows that she will soon be entirely engrossed in this new challenge.

She turns her attentions back to the man. "We're going to get you out of here," she says. "We'll get you out."  
His eyes, before unfocused, now latch on to hers with an almost desperate fervor. He murmurs something with an air of urgency and stirs, attempting to stand. What he said is not clear enough for her to make out,. After a moment, he blinks more slowly, and settles. He does not repeat it, though she waits.  
"Imoen?" she urges, the unspoken question lingering in the air.  
From the darkness, she can hear Imoen scoff. "You ever pick a lock in the dark? The doors in Candlekeep are nothing compared to this. Not even the lock on that chest of yours is – got it."  
There's a rasp of metal as Imoen pulls the chains away.  
A sense of relief washes over Kher, and she looks at the man again. "Can you stand?"

His lips move, but only air comes out, whether from lack of use or elsewise, she's not sure, though she thinks if she were in such a situation she would have screamed herself hoarse long ago.

So she draws herself up, slowly, her hands curling around his – 'Contact', she remembers reading, 'can bring a sense of security and therefore comfort in times where such things are dangerously tenuous', and so she takes care to remain touching – and when she is on her feet, she pulls him up along with her.

He has no trouble standing, but walking – walking is another matter, she learns as he staggers the instant she moves her arm. Though he is slightly hunched, he is still several inches taller than she, and she teeters before she can support him.  
"Imoen," she calls quietly, "help me get him out of here."  
Imoen complies readily enough, hesitating only a moment before grasping his arm.

They walk, step by step, concentrating only on reaching the ever-nearing circle of light.

By the time they've made it to the entrance, his steps seem stronger, more decisive.

Taev had evidently been waiting for them, and she turns impatiently at the noise. When she sees them, she – doesn't gasp, not exactly, but her eyes widen and for several seconds, her breathing becomes only a steady intake of air. "What in the Nine-?"

Kher tilts her head to motion to the remaining, unchecked room, "seems he who we seek is not only deeply entwined in the iron shortage, but is a captor as well."  
Taev's eyes flicker between them for a long moment. "I'm – going to get Jaheira, maybe she – right." And with another worried glance, she takes off.

Which leaves them to wait.

"Jaheira is a friend," Kher explains to him gently. "She knows some healing spells, and she can help."  
"Yeah," says Imoen, cheerful again, "Auntie Jaheira'll fix you up good."

He nods, slightly – a small motion, but one she delights in as the first sign of progress. Her tone turns curious. "What is your name?"  
She knows that he may not yet be able to answer her, but if he can, she –

Her only indication that Jaheira has returned is the sharp intake of breath, and then she is standing beside her.

Leveling her gaze with Kher's, Jaheira questions, "can he stand?" Kher nods, and, in one swift motion, Jaheira ducks down and slings his right arm around her shoulder, one hand on his elbow and the other on his back for balance as she stands, effectively taking Imoen's place.  
She turns her gaze again to Kher. It takes her a moment to understand, and then she is scrambling to mimic Jaheira, following her motions in order to support him better.

They pause, bathed in the light of the lantern – not here, both decide. Farther, then, in the lighted but still less-conspicuous leftmost chamber.

As she steadies, straining slightly under the effort of trying to match the height of the two, she can see the others coming into view.

Their quest is put on momentary hold, they seem to know, as they appear to be in the process of making temporary camp.  
Taev leans against a wall, arms folded. As they approach, she mouths something that Kher can't quite make out but that looks like 'okay?'  
She gives a quick quirk of her lips in reply, and Taev nods.

In this light, the man seems stronger; in the light, they remove their support in tentative movements, and he supports himself.

Jaheira nods at this, and strides away to speak with Khalid, and Kher stares after her, at a momentary loss. Then she shakes her head, clearing away the questions building up there, and speaks to the man.  
"Rest a minute," she suggests, shrugging off her pack. "It's... not much of a change of scenery, and not the most comfortable place to pause, perhaps, but it is at least well-lit."

He eases to the floor, seemingly hesitant, and leans against the rock with a wince. She begins to dig through her bags, her fingers probing within to feel for what she seeks as she looks him over more fully.

Away from the darkness of his prison, she can see the extent of his injuries. He is malnourished and pale from lack of sunlight, and bruises pepper his skin, some fading yellow, some newer purple.  
But his mind is no longer foggy, and he watches her with clear, dark eyes.  
Her heart thuds heavily and she swallows thickly, suddenly afraid because – Seldarine, he's relying on _her,_ and what does she know besides what she reads in books?

Kher turns her attention to her bag again to avoid his gaze, to delay this – leadership, she supposes.

She is not at this task long when she feels fingertips press lightly on her back, and she glances up –  
"Imoen." She smiles faintly. The pink-clad girl settles in next to her, observing curiously.

When she was younger, Kher bandaged all her scrapes and tended to her in all her illnesses.  
She draws in a deep breath. She can do this.  
For she _has_ read books, vast in their diversities, she _did _watch the clerics to learn the focal points of the trade, and through it all she did learn _some_ tricks.

She needn't suppose she would be put in charge of mending _all_ his wounds, anyway – she need only do what she can while she waits for Jaheira.

"...have you eaten recently?" she asks, softly to quiet the tremors she fears may be hiding there, but hopefully still clear.  
He shakes his head.

This, she can remedy, she thinks, but then - in an empty stomach, that _could_ do his body more harm than good. …water, then, to start.

Her canteen is at the bottom of her pack, and as she has, by this point sorted through much of its contents, she pulls it free with ease. She shakes it, hearing the liquid slosh within. Dangerously close to empty, by her guess, but it will do.  
She loosens the top, and hands it carefully to him. He receives it with trembling fingers and raises it to his lips.

On his first gulps, he splutters and coughs and nearly drops the canteen.  
He does better on the second, and then on the third.

Again, she is reminded of events years past, of nights where it was Taev who lay fever-stricken and weak, and she who played the nursemaid.

She is resting her chin on her knees, casting glances to the darkened corners of the cavern, thinking, waiting, when he speaks.

"...Xan."  
"Mh?" His voice is cracked from disuse and she feels a flash of guilt for evidently not paying close enough attention.  
"Xan," he repeats, slowly but stably, "of Evereska." He looks as though he wants to say more, but winces.  
She gets it anyway.  
She smiles, gently."Well, Xan, it's nice to meet you, though..." and here she gives a short, low laugh, and a shake of her head before continuing, "a meeting elsewhere would have been more pleasant."

She chatters to him thusly as the others shrug off packs and rub stiff muscles, idle talk made for the sake of friendly voices, though she does throw in questions to help her form a better picture – how long has he been down (here he is not yet sure, but he estimates three months), what manner of man this captor is (the foulest sort), what he was doing down here (sent on a mission much like theirs), and the like.  
Khalid joins in at times, especially when conversation turns towards matters of the outside world, of which she knows very little. Jaheira busies herself with setting him right, checking him over and using spells of healing (Kher swears to herself that she will learn these spells, no matter how long it takes), and Imoen helps to keep the tone light. Taev interjects little, but sits, looking troubled with her chin resting on her hands.

After a time, when talk of means and motives has waned and conversation turns to what they are to do, she sits back and thinks.

They expected – _she _expected – to find that the iron here was of poorer quality, that it was tainted, somehow, made weaker. An enchantment, perhaps, should the problem have been linked to a person.

But this, this is the last section of the mine. All evidence towards the beginnings of this level, this depth, suggested they would find a mine unfinished, unworked and empty - and yet they find the work of man heavy, here. Lanterns kept lit, a door set into the stone, a prisoner taken.

She shakes her head, mind swimming with possibilities – or rather, realizing how few possibilities there really are.  
They cannot rest. Much as she would welcome a chance to go over her spells or spend a few hours off her feet…  
Unless there is somewhere in that room that leads to the surface – unlikely, as any way out would have to go beneath the water, something she believes would be structurally unstable – or the occupant can teleport – an option, certainly, but hadn't she heard that to seek to teleport in small spaces, especially surrounded by stone as they are, is to seek death? Teleportation of living objects, as well, requires extreme precision and skill, and those in Nashkel had not spoken of someone with such abilities, and so – that door is the only way out.

Which means, much as the thought brings her displeasure, that he will have to leave that room at some point. He will have to leave that room, and if he catches them asleep, unawares, then –  
No. They cannot wait.

She wishes she could believe that he could be talked to, but – to keep someone so long underground, away from the sun, from comforts, from company, to bind them – his actions assure her that this is an impossibility.

They would face him, and on their own terms.  
They would face him now.


	6. Chapter 6: Adversaries & Almost Answers

**Chapter Six  
**

She brings her thoughts to Khalid, first.  
His nature seems to be, to her, of a more quiet and contemplative nature than that of his wife – whether this will make it simpler or more difficult to persuade him to her idea, she does not know.  
He listens through her explanations, nods grimly when appropriate.  
He brings up aspects she had not thought of before – the certainty that this man is present, whether it would not be better to seek out and slay any lingering kobolds in the area – and a few tactics.

Jaheira is pulled into it, naturally, as one with much greater experience in such matters, then Taev, a would-be strategist herself, and then Imoen, mostly wanting to be a part of the decision-making.  
Even Xan, evidently now strengthened to the point of clear thinking and mostly-clear speaking, takes an interest in the discussion, agreeing that immediate action is necessary, 'even if we are doomed, anyway.'

That, she supposes, takes care of another subject she'd been meaning to bring up; on a quest to find the root of or a solution to the iron crisis he may be, but he is not obligated to join them in these particular actions.  
But he had said 'we,' and so she reasons that it would not be out of the question to suppose that he counts himself among their numbers, for the moment, if no longer than that.  
Even so, she pauses in an aside as the others make ready and rearranging their bags.  
"You're certain you wish to face him so soon?" she asks.  
A slow, tired nod. "Though our chances be low, I am bound to carry out my mission, and he… has something of mine. A sword."  
Oh? Interesting. She had taken him for a spellcaster. In any case, while he may not delight at the idea, he has little qualms about joining them to… well, to do whatever it is they are going to do to his captor.

So onward they go, opening the door, going through the archway – Khalid and Jaheira in the lead, the rest trailing cautiously behind.

The man they find before them appears sufficiently deranged.  
'_The man must have some orc blood in him,_' she thinks, '_else the tusks and thick skin belie some unfortunate parentage._'  
What he had been occupied in prior to their entrance, Kher cannot say, only that he bolts upright and stares at them as if they are wandering spirits.

To see the image of a man as massive as he, fearsome in stature and in the appearance of strength launching into some sort of fearful tirade in the face of their small and underpowered group, has more the effect of disturbing her than amusing her; Taev beside her tightens her grip on her sword, reacting much the same.

Someone named Tazok has sent them, he believes, for – failing to properly ruin the supply of iron?  
He becomes all the more frantic and unhinged with every word.  
"Peculiar," she hears Xan mutter beside her, "that I can almost empathize with my captor, now that I am not in chains."  
Perhaps, then – they _can_ talk to him?  
"Almost," he continues in that same morose voice, "but not quite. If we do not overwhelm him quickly, he will doubtless summon forth the kobolds that infest this warren. We do not stand a chance against these odds."  
…well, it's still possible. Even if it is to be used as a distraction, though she knows she should frown upon such subterfuge.  
Purely rational thought seems as though it will not do, or at least would carry with it too much potential to be pushed aside or misinterpreted.

Everyone seems to be listening still. She tries and fails to catch someone's eye – how she'll communicate this concept to them enough to know whether they think this will work, she isn't sure – and so, finally and with no small amount of hesitation she begins to open her mouth  
Think of – of – of persuading the monks to let her take a look at a particular book, of directing the tutors in what they would teach, of anything even remotely similar which she's realizing are few and far between and which have certainly not prepared her to deceive someone enough to persuade them not to kill everyone –  
"Tazok," she begins in a faltering voice, at which point she frowns inwardly and digs her nails into her palm as a focusing point. "Tazok has sent us to… ensure your loyalty." _Now_ she has their attention. She makes a quick, circular motion with her hand. Imoen seems to catch on.  
"Uh – yes, Tazok is _most_ displeased with thee!" She puffs her chest out and does her best to sound imperious, which makes Kher wince.  
Still, from the corner of her eye, she can see Jaheira and Khalid edging to either side of the room, and so she continues, "if, however, you reveal your treachery in full, he may, ah – spare you from an unpleasant death!"  
And he, surprisingly seems to accept this. "I have shown no treachery! I have not crossed you, not Tazok, nor any other," he protests gruffly, "my letters – you will see—" Here he gestures wildly to a chest behind him

It is, later, hard to say _exactly_ what happened; she is listening to Xan point out the repetition of 'Tazok' and note the necessity of remembering it to further investigate when things suddenly go very, very wrong.  
"Fools!" he roars, hands already grasping for his weapon. "You'll never have the chance! Minions, come forth! Kill the intruders!"

They all start for him, initially – but then of course there is the matter of these 'minions'.  
Kobolds, of course, and skeletons, too. The conjurations – as some of them must be – are numerous, enough neat rows of them to overwhelm their group, if they get the chance.  
They are not, perhaps, receiving direct orders, but they are certainly centered on the fearsome figure. If they fell the leader, might they not scatter into disarray?

So Khalid and Jaheira go for a sort of crowd control, and she and Xan join them.

She watches even the more experienced couple struggle at times, and she thinks. Kobolds are supposed to be – easy, aren't they? A mere nuisance?  
If they have so much trouble with kobolds, with the creatures would-be heroes always start out slaying, start out – batting away as if they were mere annoyances, then – then –  
'_Then_,' she thinks, still trying to unbalance kobolds, or push away kobolds, or push back kobolds, kobolds, kobolds. '_What chance is there for me?_'

But – no, no, no, there is absolutely no time for this.  
Instead, she allows herself a small rush of triumph when she sees their numbers thin, and she is able to take a few paces back to evaluate.

Imoen fires arrow after arrow, each hit enraging and distracting him further. As he swats away each projectile, Taev closes the gap and slices at him, then steps away to repeat the process.  
Each arrow, each strike makes him all the more clumsy, and delays the swing of his own sword.

With Khalid and Jaheira keeping most of the monsters at bay, and Xan and Kher catching those who wriggle through, it goes a little better than expected.  
Still, she is unused to such efforts, and the 'minions' are relentless. She clutches at the fabric of Xan's sleeve, tugging him backwards into the room. This would at least bottleneck their foes.

He is more experienced than she, more effective.  
Bright colors burst from the tips of his fingers; where they touch, kobolds fall, not lifeless but asleep. His features express displeasure at the task, but, as they fall, something akin to satisfaction crosses his face.  
So a spellcaster after all, she notes, just before she bashes open the head of one who sleeps.

She casts glances back, hoping to see some progress.  
She is not disappointed.

Taev strikes a particularly forceful blow, not at him, but at his weapon –he loses his grip on it, vibrations shaking down his arms, and as it clatters to the floor, Taev knocks her hilt against his temple. He is forced back, and down.  
And he speaks. "I yield," he rasps, eyes wild. "I yield to you. Accept my surrencer?"

Talking, talking, talking – that's what she wanted, isn't it? To talk?  
Can she fight a foe that talks to her?  
Imoen and Taev – still more prepared for battle than she, yet still softened by gentle Candlekeep?  
Can _they_ fight a foe who talks?

They cannot.

They have none to advice them against this – Jaheira runs through two skeletons with her spear, weaking the invisible bonds holding them together, Khalid plunges his sword into two more – and as Kher has now focused on this man and not the battle around him, and they believe they see a man at his end –  
Imoen's hand pauses on her bow, failing to nock another arrow; Kher falters; Taev stills her sword. "Tell us what's going on and you may yet live," she growls.

"I will tell you anything, only leave me alive." His voice is quieter than before, but compared to their, still a rumble. "The letters are in the chest, there is everything, everything—!"

Taev motions for Imoen to check the chest, and as she does, the man shifts –

Impressive, how a man so wounded and encumbered still possesses the strength to spring from his position so quickly.  
Even unarmed, his blow sends Taev reeling, her head snapping back.

Kher finds words spilling desperately from her lips. "Taev," she cries, "_Octavia_!"

More kobolds spill from the darkness, but she scrambles away from her fellow spellcaster, her own spells rising forth – one of which she does, at least, remember to cast behind before she is fully lost, lest her companions find themselves too overwhelmed by conjurations without even her feeble spells to assist.

Anger hits her, makes her shake under the weight of it, and fury drives her actions.

Larloch's drain, a spell whose principles made her hesitate when scrawling notes into her spellbook, now leaps to her mind.

Force, knowledge, intent enough can turn weak generality into a specialty spell.  
She causes his hand his hand to wither, the muscles in his arm clench tighter around bone, suddenlydevoid of life-essence.

He roars in pain, and his next attack falters, striking elsewhere.  
There's an awful sounding _crack _– Taev has broken her sword. It has broken off not quite in the middle, near the hilt, and the tip skitters off somewhere beyond.  
Taev, not to be stopped, lets out a snarl of rage and plunges the jagged points into his eyes.  
He roars again, and Taev scrambles backward, to safety – no, not to safety. To a better vantage point. While he paws at his eyes, Taev plants her foot firmly into his stomach.

He swings for her, but Kher slings another spell. Burning, fiery brightness hits him in his already damaged eyes. He manages, still, to catch Taev on this swing, but her sword strikes true.

Imoen has filled him full with arrows, plunged them through chinks in his armor, made of chainmail already weakened.  
It has made a wobbly curve of arrows, from one side of his stomach to the other, and it is this line Taev follows, drawing the shattered blade from one to the next.

She slices his belly clean open. Kher sees the yellowish-white of bulging, buberous fat spilling forth, and with another twist and jerk, the pink of intestines, of organs, and then thick, dark blood.  
He gurgles; stumbles; falls.

Her sister stands as the warrior queen Kher had first envisioned, all those many years ago, her hair wild around her face, her stance tall and proud, her lips drawn in an imperious sneer as she flings her broken hilt away from the mess – and then she winces with pain and falls upon her knees.

Kher rushes to her; the clicking of a bow set upon stone alerts her to Imoen doing the same.  
Taev does not fall.  
Her palms support her; when she pushes up, they are slick with blood. "It's done," she says. Her voice is harsh.

"Taev," Kher begins, voice soft, worried as she reaches for her sister. "Are you alright? Do you need—?"  
"I'm _fine_," Taev snarls in response. She shakes away their arms to stand, unsteady.

The burning anger has faded into relief at her sister's words; weariness as she feels more drained of magic than she was prepared for; and guilt as she realizes that this man was not their only adversary here.  
As her sisters stand, so she rises also. When she turns, however, she can see that the others have come quietly into the cavern. Beyond, heaps of little bodies, and bones no longer held together by dark magic.  
'_Though really_,' she thinks, '_without giving them some pilfered strand of individuality, would magic that brings them to animation really be 'dark'? Useful, more, and –'_  
She shakes her head. She is too weary for philosophy.

Imoen has by now begun to sort through the contents of the traps, dexterous fingers already having checked it over for traps, of which there are none.

From it, she pulls scroll after scroll, boots, potions, and a seal. Some of these are handed to her.

Of the scrolls, half are magical, which she rolls and places in her pouch. The others offer explanations. These, she skims, and hands off to Jaheira and Khalid.  
As for the boots – she recognizes the distinctive feeling of dull grey the magic there gives off. She has seen the enchantment woven into other objects. Boots of grounding, then.

Taev claims the sword from beside the man's – from beside _Mulahey's_ corpse. Even with flecks of blood and gore, the weapon glitters in her hands.  
She does first offer it to Xan, who shakes his head mutely.

The one pulled from the chest, then, found last, buried beneath the scrolls and charms and potions – perhaps this is it?

In his hands, the edges of the blade leap with blue flames, burning softly up and over before extinguishing as he lowers it.

She notes these things dimly; what she takes most notice of is _him_.

She sought his death, and she attained it. Where once was life, bright and filled with potential, possibilities – could she not have tried harder to talk it out? Did she follow the path of least resistance through inattention? – there is now only stillness. She has brought that on him.  
The sight of his ruined corpse should evoke from her feelings of guilt and horror, but all she now has is the sharp, unmistakable sense of satisfaction.

She should not feel that.

She shakes herself from these thoughts to see her sister's concerned gaze, eyebrows that have turned from cheerful pink to ruddy orange in the torchlight knit together in worry.  
Kher giver herself a shake and shakes her head at her sister's silent question.  
"Let us be free of this tomb."


End file.
